Fabulous Fifties
by addledwalrus
Summary: Random events of the 1950s that might have happened in the Hetalia universe. Multiple characters, as well as several pop culture references. Current chapter: Fangirls
1. Monster Movie

**Say what you want about Veneziano, but I highly doubt he's as innocent as some like to write him. I personally think he would have been fond of B movies and thrillers back in the day.  
**

**The movie is supposed to be 'Creature from the Black Lagoon' by the way.  
**

* * *

Veneziano sat in the movie theatre as black and white opening credits rolled on the projected screen. He had initially considered persuading a young lady to come with him to see this film for a date, but after a rant from his older brother he had changed his mind and decided to watch it alone.

The film seemed promising enough, with a voluptuous woman on the promotional poster and an exciting tagline to go with it. He only hoped now that it would live up to what it claimed it would deliver, for more than once he had gone to see a film only to be disappointed.

The opening scene began and Veneziano waited impatiently for the action to start. He couldn't wait for there to be some decent monster against gorgeous lady action.

He didn't know what it was about such scenes, but they always had him feeling incredibly thrilled and on the edge of his seat. Perhaps it was the thin line between life and death that the leading lady experienced, the moment in which one felt most alive, ironic as it was.

The anticipated scene arrived and he enjoyed every minute of it, from the monster spying on the beauty from the depths as she went swimming, to the way it followed her while she remained oblivious to it's presence.

It all ended satisfying enough, with the monster seemingly killed and the heroes finally safe from the terror. Even so, Veneziano felt that the story lacked a certain something. He couldn't figure out just what it was at the moment, but he was sure that one day it would occur to him.


	2. Ladies' Man

It was a rather relaxing afternoon for Veneziano. He'd been let off work early by his boss and now he had plenty of time to just lie back, read a magazine and put some soothing music on the record.

He sat down on the couch, picked up the magazine he'd just bought and began to read. He turned the pages until he saw a picture of the gorgeous Sophia Loren and smiled in pleasure.

_"Ah, the most beautiful women in the world can be found at my place!" _He thought proudly. _"Not like Germany's women, of course. They look just like men..."_

His peace was interrupted when his brother Romano entered the living room and cleared his throat loudly. Veneziano glanced up from his magazine and tried to look as cheerful as possible.

"Veneziano, could I borrow the car?" Romano asked, shuffling his feet uneasily and shoving a hand in his pocket.

"Why? I've already done the shopping...I even got this nice magazine. You can read it later..."

Veneziano tossed it gently on the coffee table before him while keeping his eyes on Romano, causing the latter to have second thoughts on his plans. Nevertheless, he pulled himself together and prepared to state his reasons honestly and without fear.

"I'm...I'm taking a girl out for a drive and I can't do that without your car."

"Oh?" Veneziano said in surprise. "That's all, Romano? Well if you say so, you can have the car for the rest of today."

Romano couldn't believe his luck. _His brother was actually letting him use the car for once, without condition! It was too good to be true!_

"Thank you so much!" He cried excitedly, before hurrying outside to where the vehicle was parked.

* * *

Romano returned that night from the car trip, feeling quite satisfied with himself. All had gone well, for the girl seemed to have really enjoyed his company and praised the nice car he had, despite it not really being his. He remembered how she had later demanded in her drunkenness, that he buy her a diamond ring and chuckled in amusement. He would have to borrow quite a lot of money if he were to satisfy that request.

He made his way up to the front door, running a hand through his combed back hair and reaching for the doorknob with the other. He froze just an inch short however, when he saw the sign hanging just above his head.

_Dear brother, _

_I hope you enjoyed using the car. I expect you to pay for all the fuel!_

_Lots of love, Veneziano_

Romano took a step backwards and screamed in anguish.

* * *

**Note: ****Historically, the South of Italy has been less economically advanced than the North so I imagined Romano sort of living in debt to his younger brother (embarrassing as it would be). He probably would have had to ask politely if he wanted to use any of the luxury goods Veneziano owned (n****o wonder he has such a low self-esteem).**


	3. Armour

**This one is kind of depressing, compared to the previous two chapters.**

* * *

Japan stared at the centuries old suit of armour mounted up in his store room. Memories of having worn it while charging into battle with his fellow samurai, sword in his hand and screaming the Emperor's name flooded back to him.

That had been five hundred years ago, and he remembered how the men had screamed in pain as arrows and blades pierced and sliced through their bodies. They fell dead around him until he was one of the last left standing, surrounded by pools of blood and crows picking at the corpses of his former comrades.

It was now 1950 and the war that ended five years before hadn't been much different, now that he thought about it. For all his pride in his technology and supreme military power, his soldiers still died as easily as ever.

One time, he had trudged over through the aftermath of a skirmish and eyed the bullet-ridden bodies of the young men, holding his nose to block out the stench of decay as the flies buzzed around in the humid summer air.

_"Was it all for nothing? Did they all die without a cause?" _He thought hopelessly, remembering the Emperor's announcement of the nation's surrender.

He felt he couldn't face the world anymore in his humiliation and wished he could just disappear, for everyday was a struggle when he could feel the grief of his citizens, when he was aware of how much suffering he had caused for his neighbours.

He knew that one day he would have to come to terms with it all, but now it just seemed like such an insurmountable task. For now, he simply wanted to stay inside where he couldn't see anyone and they couldn't see him.


	4. Greaser

One Saturday morning, America admired his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The previous week he had opted to try something different with his appearance and boy did he look great now. Before he left the room, he gave himself a quick thumbs-up.

He later strutted out on to the street, a dark leather coat covering his back and his hair slicked back with a generous amount of gel. All that was missing now was a pair of sunglasses that would add a little mystery to his face, but unfortunately he didn't have enough money to buy any more such accessories.

_"Just gotta act casual...they're looking at you in admiration, not disapproval..." _He thought as people around stopped to stare at him.

Once he had found a vacant corner, he decided to use it as an opportunity to practice his smoking technique. He reached into his pocket for his packet of cigarettes, lit one for himself and brought it up to his lips to inhale.

However, just like all the other times, he was unable to stand the foul tasting vapors rushing through his airways and started coughing in discomfort. He dropped the cursed cigarette to the ground as his eyes began to water.

_"Geez, how do England and France do it? It tastes so disgusting, I think I'm gonna puke..."_

He crossed his arms across his chest and left the vacant corner so he could find some fresh air that would help clear his mind.


	5. Girl Problems

**I did my best to think of generic girl's names that might have been popular back in the fifties. I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

The local park turned out to be the perfect place for some time off and America sat down on a bench, simply staring at the grass while pedestrians and cyclists went past minding their own business.

Several minutes went by without much disturbance, until the excited voices of two girls startled him.

"Hey, Betty! Look at that guy, isn't he such a dreamboat?"

He turned in the direction that the first voice had come from and saw a blonde and a brunette standing together by a large tree, dressed primly in their summer frocks as they appeared to be admiring some boy.

"Oh, he just looked at us! Do you think he's interested?" The blonde chattered, nudging her friend playfully.

As the two continued with their conversation, America found himself glancing around absent-mindedly for whom they could be talking about. It wasn't until he heard the brunette speak up again, that he realized.

"Whatever you say, Betty. I think I'll go talk to him, see if he's free..."

Moments later, the brunette was skipping up to him with a big smile on her face. She stopped just a few inches short of the bench he was sitting at.

"Hi, I'm Jane. What's your name?" She asked sweetly, placing her hand near his shoulder.

America swallowed and tried to make eye contact with the girl without it seeming as if he were staring. He directed his eyes somewhere else every few seconds so he was never looking at the same place for too long.

"I-I'm Alfred..." He stammered, trying his best to avoid staring at her chest. He'd always been told that such a thing was rude, but now the reason had escaped his memory.

Jumbled words of advice that he'd heard over the years on dealing with women flooded into his head, and he began to lose track of what the girl before him was saying.

"_What was it that they said again? Oh right, girls will give you cooties! No, that can't be it..."_

"Well aren't you going to speak to me? That's a shame, 'cos I do think you're really cute..." The brunette sighed at him as he felt a flush of blood rush up into his cheeks.

She strode haughtily back to the blonde and they walked away together, chatting in disapproval.

"You know, Betty. Boys seem great at first but once you actually talk to them, they're all so shallow..."

"Tell me about it..." The blonde muttered in agreement as she clutched her book demurely.

* * *

"Um, England. Can I ask you about something?" America called out to his former guardian as he trailed behind.

"Whatever it is, America, just spill it." England turned around, looking a little irritated as he came to a stop just outside the entrance to the meeting room.

America looked at the older nation in hesitation before telling him of the incident in the park. It was difficult at first, but once he'd finished he felt as if a weight was taken off his shoulders.

"Hopeless around girls? Why is that?" England asked curiously.

"I really don't know. I was pretty confident last decade with the whole war hero business going on..."

England paused to think for several moments before his face brightened up.

"Well I think I know the answer, America." He said proudly.

"Really?!"

"Yes. All these years, you've been raised to treat women as if they were exotic beings when really, they're just like us."

"Just like us? Are you sure?"

"Well, apart from the fact that they make babies and go through strange phases each month, yes. Anyway, treat them like they're equal and it should be alright. You can even pretend that they are men too, if it helps put you at ease..."

"Sounds logical, I guess I'll try it..." America said quietly, considering England's advice.

At that moment though, France came in on the scene and shook his head in dismay.

"America, don't listen to him. This is the man who once punched a lady in the face while drunk..."

"Now, why would I do that?! I'm a gentleman!" England protested.

"Apparently, not when you're intoxicated. I had to help the poor mademoiselle up and escort her away, since you wouldn't stop cursing in her direction."

"So what? I was drunk and out of my mind! How was I supposed to know what I was actually doing?"

"Exactly."

England and France soon erupted into argument over the former's various drunken escapades, leaving America with nothing to do but stand and watch helplessly.


	6. Sex Change

When Norway visited Denmark's place that day in early 1953, he had noted that his long time friend was as welcoming as usual. All went predictably, with them making coffee and sitting down to drink together so they could discuss recent events.

"So how are things going, Norway? Are you still struggling?"

"No, I'm doing just fine. You've forgotten that I _did _manage to host the Olympics last year without much trouble."

"Ha, I guess my memory's already starting to fail...I feel old..." Denmark said jokingly to himself, gazing up at an old painting hanging on the wall of the small room.

"That's what you get from fighting so much with Sweden." Norway muttered, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Speaking about Sweden, he's been keeping to himself quite a bit lately. I wonder what he's up to."

"Well, he must have a lot of work to do. The war hasn't really slowed him down like it has with us."

Denmark stood up and departed into the kitchen, cup still in his hand and did not come back until a few minutes later. When he did, the cup of coffee was no longer in his hand and instead replaced with a rolled up newspaper.

"I just found something that I think will cheer you up!" He grinned as he unrolled it and slammed it down on the table before them.

Norway's eyes rolled toward the photo of a young woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes, before he actually began to read the article that came with it.

As he did so, his dull eyes widened to a point that Denmark never thought physically possible.

"This...this can't be real, can it?" Norway asked him in disbelief. "There's no way a man can become a woman. It's impossible!"

"It sure is now!" Denmark replied proudly. "Isn't it amazing? Now any man can become a sexy woman if he really wants to!"

"Denmark, I really don't think that's something to proud of. It just doesn't seem right, if you know what I mean. It's like you're messing with nature now."

"Oh Norway, I think you're just jealous that science has succeeded where your magic has failed!"

"Please don't remind me of that time again..." Norway hissed, his expression darkening as he remembered something he evidently regretted.

"But it's the same thing, isn't it?"

"No, it's not. I was a lot younger back then, and stupid too."

"Anyway, you have to admit that the world just got that much more amazing, thanks to me!"

"How about I ask you something?" Norway snapped bitterly. "Since you're so excited about this, does that mean you would like to become a woman too?"

Denmark jumped and stared at Norway in hesitation for a short while, eyes darting slightly in confusion.

"No, of course not! Don't get me wrong, I love being a man too much!" He exclaimed once he'd reached a consensus in his mind.

"Well, that's a relief then..." Norway sighed.

* * *

**Author's Note: Christine Jorgensen was born a man and became one of the first people in the world to undergo successful sex reassignment surgery. It's said that she decided on it while she visiting relatives in Denmark, in the hope of resolving her gender identity issues, and that she had to get special permission for the operations to be carried out.  
**

**While it was not the first time such a thing was done, it was the first time that a case like that received a lot of publicity.**

**Once she returned to the United States, she became a celebrity of sorts and her story received much media attention. She apparently went on to appear in interviews, movies and even recorded some songs.  
**


	7. Princess Consort

**In which Monaco believes she's living in a fairy tale, not that she's completely unfounded in doing so. I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

**April, 1955**

While the Cannes Film Festival was underway in France, Monaco herself was facing a difficult situation at home. She was well aware that her boss Prince Rainier III, despite the effort he'd put into ruling, was still without a long-term spouse.

That wasn't the real problem in itself however, for Monaco knew that if Rainier did not produce an heir soon, she would find herself back under France's sovereignty as per the treaty signed in 1918.

She knew that France evidently meant well, but the thought of him changing things to fit his own tastes just didn't appeal to her. As such, she prayed each day that the Prince would find a worthy woman, one that truly deserved him, for not just anybody deserved to become Princess Consort of her land.

The answer to her prayers seemed to arrive in the form of American actress Grace Kelly. She was visiting the area as part of the US delegation for the film festival and had stopped at the royal palace for a photo session with the Prince.

Monaco saw the actress from afar and felt her own heart race at the woman's classy beauty and poise. She sighed and put a hand to her chest, just as the actress posed next to Rainier and the camera flashed.

Grace Kelly left once her purpose was finished and Monaco found herself sorely missing the star already. She didn't know why, but just thinking about the lady made her feel calm inside and that everything would be alright. At last, the perfect woman for the Prince had come into her life, only to leave before there was enough time to get to know her thoroughly.

In her absence, Monaco tried to find out as much about Grace Kelly as possible by reading magazines and getting information on the latest film she was playing in.

* * *

Monaco very nearly fainted in joy when she heard the news that Grace Kelly was coming back for a tour. Now was the perfect chance for the Prince to secure her as his fiancé! There was simply no reason for him to beat around the bush like he had done with that other woman Gisèle, if even she could see how it perfect it all was.

_"I only hope that he realizes she is the ideal woman for him. If he lets her go again, I don't know what I'd do..."_

Rainier and the actress got to know each other and he introduced her to his family, which went remarkably well. Before too long, he was proposing to her and she was accepting, an act that Monaco liked to think was a direct result of her own willpower.

The following April in 1956, Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier III at the expense of her acting career. Monaco couldn't care less though, for now she could admire the splendid beauty whenever she wanted, not to mention she no longer had to worry about losing sovereignty over herself.

The wedding was a grand affair and just what Monaco had hoped for. In her excitement, she had spent hours in front of the mirror making herself look stunning without knowing exactly why. Perhaps she wished to make a good impression on the soon-to-be Princess Consort.

Whatever it was, before leaving she made sure to wear the fine mink coat and the pearl necklace that France had once given her as gifts.


	8. Guilt

**Contrary to the title of this story, not all of the chapters are going to be happy. This is one of them.**

* * *

"I would be careful around these Koreans if I were you, young man. You never know what tricks they might have up their sleeves." The bitter Marine scolded Alfred, unaware of the latter's true identity. "They've got bad manners, too..."

"Gee, are ya sure? It's just a kid..." Alfred shrugged casually, approaching the curious little girl whom was staring at him.

She flinched as he got closer, before backing off and running away without a word.

"Oh, looks like you've scared her." The Marine said scathingly as the little girl disappeared amidst a crowd of adults. "Us simply standing around is enough to put them on edge, not that I'd blame 'em with all the shit that's been going on."

"I'm so sorry..." Alfred found himself saying in guilt, the thoughts of what he'd done the past few years weighing heavily on his conscience.

"Sorry? Why'd ya have to be sorry? You killed anyone without meaning to?"

"Yeah...you could say that I have..."

"Well, that's war, son."

* * *

America had visited to find out how things were going on in the aftermath of the Korean War, as well as to find out if what he'd done was at least a little justified. Neither provided him with much relief however and the sight of all the impoverished refugees only made his stomach heave in regret.

_"I guess this is it. These people are suffering, and it's all my fault."_

He stayed a while at one of the former military bases, now impatient to return home once again as soon as possible. He couldn't stand to see any more blank, traumatized faces staring at him with unclear intentions.

By the end of the month, he got what he wished for and was able to board a plane back to the United States. He readjusted to the pace of life around him and forgot all about the War, soon returning to his usual lively state.

One of the last reminders came sometime in February that year, as he read the newspaper during breakfast.

Marilyn Monroe, it was reported, had spent four days performing for the remaining troops in Korea with much positive reception.

On one hand, America felt proud that the actress had gone out of her way to help make life more tolerable for the soldiers, a deed that only made him love her even more. On the other, he thought again of the countless civilian and military casualties that had occurred and could only sit in his chair overwhelmed with conflicting emotions.


	9. Swedish Ladies

**I'm pretty much writing whenever a new idea pops into my head, so the order and pacing of these chapters might be inconsistent.**

**This one's about the Scandinavian Trio, whom I think have lived together for so long (like siblings) that they don't find each other attractive any more.**

* * *

"Norway, this is what has been bugging me lately." Denmark explained, laying a large scrapbook down on the table. He turned the pages until he arrived at a spread filled with photographs of beautiful women.

Norway took a quick sip from his glass of water and set it down, before inching closer and looking over Denmark's shoulder.

"These pictures? What could possibly be wrong with them?"

"It's not the women, it's where they come from. Why don't you guess?"

Norway squinted slightly before replying. "Wouldn't they be American? The actresses there are all pretty stunning."

"Nope. I'll give you one more try."

It was then that one particular picture caught Norway's eye and he figured out just what was bothering Denmark.

"Isn't that Ingrid Bergman? She's from Sweden..." He muttered, pointing to the top right corner of the page.

"Wow, how did you guess?"

"She's really famous. If you can't recognize her, you must have been living under a rock."

"Oh, I know who she is. I just wanted to make sure you did."

"Nevermind..." Norway shrugged. "What's strange about her being from Sweden?"

"It's not just her, it's all these other ladies too!" Denmark insisted, shifting his hand across the rest of the page. Norway blinked.

"So? We all make pretty people from time to time. It's only natural, us being nations and all."

"That's not the point! Only America makes this many beauties in such a short time and he has what, one hundred and fifty million people? How many does Sweden have?"

"Good God..." Norway uttered in disbelief, as it all came together in his mind. Clearly, there was some sort of trickery going on.

"So what do you make of it, Norway? You live right next to him."

"I...I've never thought of him in such a light..." He tried to answer honestly.

"Me neither. I mean, he's not even that good looking and he's pretty boring too."

"I wouldn't really say that if I were you. We still hardly know anything about him, even after a thousand years."

"You're right. I wonder if he'll ever reveal any of his deep mysteries to us." Denmark mused, putting his hands together.

"Perhaps. We never know..." Norway shrugged.


	10. Pawns

**No prizes for guessing what film Sweden was watching.**

* * *

After spending so many days working in 1957, Sweden decided to find some time to relax, if only for just one night. He went and purchased a movie ticket to see one of the latest films by some director with the surname Bergman. He made plans to attend a small, quiet theatre that weekend, as he did not wish to have his viewing disrupted by the noisy hooligans that tended to populate the larger venues.

Once the designated night came, he spent no more than half an hour getting himself properly groomed and dressed, before purposefully walking out of the front door. Efficiency and punctuality were ideal in this day and age after all.

He remembered to remove his hat once he was inside the movie theatre, as he had grown accustomed to doing over the past few decades. He tipped it slightly to a passing young woman out of politeness and she smiled back at him, before slipping out through the flimsy exits.

He sat down in one of the back rows as the title credits rolled. Chilling music began to play and an opening monologue marked the start of the film.

The plot gradually unfolded itself before him and it wasn't quite like anything he'd watched before. He found that he was also beginning to feel conflicted as a result of the actors' intense performances. He could all too easily relate to what their characters were going through, for he had once experienced the same disillusionment and uncertainty.

With the passing of each scene, he only grew more anxious for the film to end on a hopeful note so that he could leave satisfied with the final fates of each character.

It seemed the director had no such plans however. The climax was gripping enough but the eventual ending filled him with emptiness and unease, as if it were he whom was doomed to partake in the Dance of Death rather than some of the ill-fated protagonists.


	11. Hat

**This one pretty much occurred to me when I thought of how out of place some of the nations' hair might have seemed in certain time periods. It's one of the few things that I think could be improved about Hetalia, in fact.**

* * *

Denmark stared at the shelf of shoes, unsure of which pair to choose when a voice startled him.

"Could you take your hat off, sir?" A shop assistant asked politely as they approached him from behind.

"Pardon?" Denmark uttered quietly, feigning surprise at the man's request. He always dreaded moments like this, when he was asked to remove his hat in public for whenever he did, he would be met with stares and hushed whispers.

"Please take it off, sir." The man said a little more firmly, rephrasing his previous command.

Denmark laid his eyes on the people before him and hesitantly raised his hand to the hat he was wearing. He began to tug it slowly off his head, preparing himself for everyone's reactions. Once it was off, he held it tightly in front of his chest and tried to ignore the attention he was now receiving.

"Mummy, what happened to that man's hair?" A little boy asked innocently as he pointed his finger in the air.

"Quiet, darling. It's rude to point." The woman next to him said anxiously, pushing his arm down.

Denmark heard the exchange and quickly glanced at the mother and child, catching a glimpse of the latter pouting.

"I have hat hair, alright?!" He found himself blurting out to the boy before he could hold his tongue. Something about the child's face just seemed to irritate him, though he wasn't sure why.


	12. New Guy

**This one is based on the idea that Finland joined the Nordic Council around 1955, after tensions with the Soviet Union.**

Ever since 1952, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Iceland would meet a few times each year in Copenhagen to discuss affairs with each other, as well as catch up on personal business. Throughout the following three years, it was most often Denmark whom would organize these meetings in the hope that they would all warm up to each other.

Norway seemed to remain as aloof as ever while Sweden hardly spoke at all, only contributing when it was absolutely necessary. As for Iceland, he more often than not appeared to be too absorbed in his own interests to participate in conversations.

In the end, Denmark frequently found himself carrying meetings by doing much of the speaking, while the others simply listened and nodded in agreement occasionally, much to his dismay.

One particular meeting in 1955 however stirred things up a little, when a formal letter arrived addressed to all four of them. He picked it up and had immediately requested Sweden's assistance in reading it, for it was written in Swedish.

"It's from Finland. He wishes to join us and has outlined his qualities here to help us decide." He explained, after much effort on Sweden's part.

"_That _Finland?" Norway said in surprise, sitting up straight. "The one who stood up to Russia?"

"Yes." Sweden replied tersely.

"Very impressive, that was..." Norway whispered to himself, though Denmark could sense the awe present in his voice. "So, what has he written?" He then asked, speaking up again.

"Hmm, he says he's good with guns, can speak Swedish fluently, doesn't mind the cold...the list goes on."

"I say we give him a chance." Sweden said suddenly, with such great intensity that it nearly frightened the others. Iceland even snapped out of his thoughts and began to focus on his environment for once.

"That...that's a quick decision...what does everyone else think?" Denmark uttered hesitantly, trying to figure out the reason for Sweden's sudden flare of passion.

"I hate to agree with Sweden, but I think we could do well with someone like him on our side." Norway replied with apparent disinterest.

"Our side? I thought the war was over..." Iceland said absentmindedly.

"It is, and that's a good thing." Denmark reassured. "I still want to know what you think, though."

"Never mind me, you guys just do whatever pleases you. I don't care."

"Alright..." Denmark continued, turning to Norway and ignoring Iceland. "Since you and Sweden both think it's a good idea, I guess I may as well agree too. In that case, we'll let Finland join in at our next meeting. Any last objections?"

Silence followed, so Denmark declared the decision to be final with an excited grin on his face.


	13. Preparation

**Some background notes before you read this chapter:**

**- Korea was divided soon after the Second World War, but the division only became official until around 1948.**

**- The 'first great war' referred to here is World War Two, not World War One, as the Korean War followed not long after.**

**- I'm not sure whether Yong Soo's character just represents the South or if he once represented the whole peninsula, but I decided to go with the former for the sake of simplicity.**

**- Syngman Rhee ( Mr Rhee here) was strongly anticommunist, as well as quite harsh on alleged Communist sympathizers, which didn't really sit well with some.**

**- It is said that levels of health were initially higher in the North than in the South and that they actually experienced greater economic progress before the war.**

* * *

Yong Soo's earliest memories composed of ongoing war and chaos, and the constant knowledge that the enemy he was up against happened to be his own brother, whom he'd never really had the chance to get to know well.

It seemed that the two of them had come into being shortly after that first great war, of which many adults talked about and remembered with dread. He often overheard them recollecting their memories of it in conversations and praying that the current peace would last. He himself had occasional flashbacks of that period, in particular the face and voice of a solemn young man dressed in white and armed with a sword.

For reasons that Yong Soo would only find out later he was almost always kept in a different building from his brother, only ever being able to see the other's face when political matters needed to be discussed.

These meetings were usually very tense, with him sitting on the opposite side of the room from his brother, watching while a pair of tall, fair-haired foreigners debated aggressively. It didn't take a fool to work out that something big was at stake from the way they argued.

It was also during this time that he was introduced to Mr Rhee, a serious old man whose hair had turned mostly white and whom he found quite boring. Mr Rhee, he was told, would be in charge of him from that point on. As a young child, he didn't find this news comforting at all and stuck his tongue out at the man to show his distaste, which only resulted in a slap and a scolding from the official behind him.

It was agreed by Mr Rhee and his ministers that he was to start his training as soon as possible. Exactly what this 'training' constituted however, he only found out when it actually began.

Each day he was schooled in politics and made to undergo intense physical exercise to strengthen his body and help him grow. He was taught that all Communists were dangerous and his brother, being one too, was not to be trusted at any cost.

He was regularly weighed and measured from head to toe with a tape measure, as a way of monitoring his health and the numbers recorded for later reference.

''He's still too short and skinny. He'll never catch up to his brother if we keeping feeding him at this rate.'' One doctor observed, shaking his head in disapproval as his eyes wandered down the clipboard in his hand. "I don't see what we'll be able to achieve if he remains this weak."

Yong Soo took those words to heart and went to bed that night feeling quite ashamed and disappointed with himself. He didn't want to let anyone down, but above all, he didn't want his brother to overtake him and leave him behind. He swore to himself over the next few days that he would try doubly as hard as he had before, in the hope that the results would be satisfactory.


	14. Candy

**This one probably requires no other explanation other than that Yong Soo is starving in the aftermath of Korean War and that it was common back then for the American soldiers to give the local children candies and other treats.**

* * *

The first time Yong Soo saw Alfred, he found the western nation's appearance incredibly exotic, with his golden hair and large stature.

After the madness that was the Korean War, Yong Soo was informed by Mr Rhee that he was required to meet with the personification of the United States.

This meeting was arranged the following day and Yong Soo was made to sit down at the same table as the American. He had shuffled restlessly in his seat in an attempt to get comfortable, eventually settling for a kneeling position so that he could see the other nation clearly.

Silence followed as Yong Soo was mesmerized by Alfred's blue eyes, which reminded him of the clear sky in summer. He began to stare incessantly, soon forgetting all about the original purpose in the meeting.

"Kid, don't you know it's rude to stare? Geez..." Alfred spoke up, his words startling Yong Soo.

Yong Soo could only guess what Alfred had just said, since he only had a very basic understanding of English, but he knew that he had already irritated the western nation in some way.

He averted his eyes as he tried to search his memory for a simple English phrase, that would hopefully ease the situation. As he did so, he didn't notice Alfred pulling a handful of candy out of his pocket.

The sound of the sweets hitting the table distracted him however and he looked up again, becoming surprised at the colourful wrappings.

"You like candy, kid?"

Yong Soo didn't answer as he greedily scooped the whole lot up with his arms, his mouth beginning to water. Once they were all securely in his possession, he felt confident enough to pick one up and unwrap it, before popping the brown lump into his mouth.

"Damn it, I was going to save the rest for later..." Alfred could only say glumly as Yong Soo moved onto his second piece of candy.


	15. Disappointment

"Hey, girlie!" The soldier called out to Taiwan as she hurriedly served bowls of rice to the influx of mainland citizens that had recently arrived at her place.

As she did so, she briefly paid attention to the young man whom had spoken. He grinned back from the corner of the hall, even giving her a little wave and a wink.

She tried not to show any distaste at his unkempt appearance and sleaziness, instead forcing herself to focus solely on the task right in front of her.

Perhaps it was just her own mind exaggerating things, but the manners of all those men in the Kuomintang left a lot to be desired, in her opinion.

_"All of them are so brash and inconsiderate, rushing into everything as if their lives depend on it. Then again, I guess China himself is no different, seeing as to how difficult it's been to live with him..."_

At the end of each day however, Taiwan was once again reminded that the current circumstances were out of her control and that the best she could do was to just deal with things as they came.

None of it stopped her though, from secretly wishing that one day the endless queue of menial chores would come to a steady stop and she could again have time to contemplate life the way she used to do.

Then there was her demanding boss, also from the mainland. She'd never been one for militarism, which had only heightened the tension between the two of them, as it seemed to be his foremost interest as leader.

But if there was one thing that amused her despite it all, it was the look on his face when he realized that she was nothing more than a feeble young girl.

She remembered how he had almost fallen into despair afterwards, believing that she would never be a worthy puppet in his dream to reclaim power, the very image bringing a smile to her face.


	16. Kaiju

It was November 1954, and Japan's boss was beginning to grow tired of having to deal with the personification's apparent withdrawal. In one of his last-ditch attempts, the prime minister forced him to go out and buy a movie ticket, in the hope that being able to watch a good film would lift the nation's spirits.

Japan went out on the night wearing several layers of clothing, along with a worn hat and a scarf that obscured most of his face. He did not want to show his full appearance to any of the people on the street around him, fearing that it would attract unwanted attention.

Contrary to what he had hoped however, he still felt the stares as he entered the newly built movie theatre, his ticket resting safely in one of his coat pockets.

The ticket was checked and accepted, though the inspector gave him a look of suspicion before letting him pass through.

Japan sat down in the very back row and saw that the film had already begun. He glanced at the screen while recalling promotional information that had come with it's release.

_Gojira_, the movie poster had read. It's design had been rather bold, with the actual monster being the central focus while the portraits of the actors had been relegated to the bottom corners of the page. It was almost as if they were looking up at the creature in fear, as a matter of fact.

The movie progressed before his eyes, depicting the monster rampaging and causing destruction all around and he couldn't help but begin to feel deeply offended.

He couldn't understand why some in the theatre seemed to be enjoying the movie so much, for the scenes were now bringing back all sorts of harsh memories that he would much rather have forgotten.

Before too long, he could stand it no longer and quietly rushed out of the room, regretting ever choosing this film in particular. For once, he was willing to discard the money he'd spent too, if it meant maintaining his own mental soundness.

He walked out on to the street, now lit by lamp posts and opted instead to go for a long stroll before he returned home.

* * *

**Author's Note: The first Godzilla movie initially received negative reviews from some critics in Japan, due to the fact that it showed scenes of the country being ravaged and it's references to the effects of nuclear radiation.  
**


	17. Trabant

Some years after having to move away from his brother, Prussia was finally able to rake in enough money to purchase a car for himself. He knew it was about time too, for having to go everywhere on foot was often rather tiring.

He still couldn't quite accept the world was changing so quickly. He'd once been able to march for hours without breaking a sweat, but now his legs would get sore after just a few miles and he would pant to try to ease his lungs.

On one fine day, he set out to the nearest dealer to find a vehicle. He read an advertisement for the Trabant upon arrival and was impressed by the low price as well as the described qualities. He then told the dealer which one he wanted, before paying and giving some personal details so that the vehicle could be delivered to him.

He waited for several weeks and was on the verge of demanding a refund when it finally arrived. He jumped straight behind the wheel in his excitement and prepared to drive, inserting the key in the ignition and starting up the engine.

He grinned as the car slowly began to reverse and he turned the steering wheel gently, only to hear a quiet explosion followed by a spluttering sound.


	18. Pool Fight

**I'm not actually that good at writing moments of conflict so I tend to avoid them, counterproductive as it may be.**

**If you can't figure it out, this chapter is supposed to have taken place after the ****"Blood in the Water" match** at the 1956 Olympics.

* * *

Hungary sat down on one of the changing room benches, pressing a wet cloth to her bruised eye as some of her neighbours looked on. Some, such as Prussia shook their heads in dismay, while others were evidently proud that she had shown such boldness in the first place.

She dabbed the cloth against her face and lowered it, revealing a patch of blood at the spot where it had touched her eye.

"I'm alright, everyone. You can all leave if you want." She said as calmly as she could to the small crowd, eager to have some time alone after what she'd done.

The arrival of both Austria and Australia, the host that year, resulted in them stepping aside and for a moment, Hungary thought that the two nations look rather alike through her blurred vision.

"What's all this racket about, people? She's bleeding, isn't she?" Australia called out, his voice sounding almost sarcastic to the few with a strong command of English.

"Out of the way, let me see." He said a little more forcefully. The older nations obeyed, despite his youth, and slowly departed from the room.

Hungary instantly felt awkward with the stares of the two men and began to have second thoughts on whether she missed the company she'd had before.

She was half expecting words of disapproval in regards to her behaviour, so it was a pleasant surprise when the host actually congratulated her for it.

"Man, that was crazy what you did out in that pool, though I couldn't understand a word you were saying! Anyway, good luck for the future!"

He grinned and slapped her on the back affectionately before striding off, leaving her face to face with Austria.

She half expected harsh words of disapproval to come from his mouth, so it was a welcome surprise when he didn't say anything at all, but look at her sympathy before taking the soiled cloth from her and giving her his own handkerchief.

"You're so reckless sometimes," was all he uttered.

He was gone within moments after that and she simply looked down at the clean white square of fabric in her hand, feeling oddly touched.

* * *

Elsewhere, a silently fuming Russia dried himself with a towel, while being watched over warily by a tense Belarus and Ukraine.


	19. Host

On 21 November of 1956, Australia spent most of the day rushing around, hoping to get a look at all of the athletes that had arrived to compete in the Olympic Games.

He could hardly wait for the Opening Ceremony that would take place the following night, and was so overcome with excitement that he'd forgotten to eat lunch.

_"England's gonna scold me for that if he ever finds out." _He mused, as he looked up and saw the Union Jack on his own flag.

He remembered how he'd just narrowly won the vote back in 1949 and how most had doubted his ability to organize and host such a large event.

Sure, there were problems at the start such as the issue with the equestrian events, financial difficulties and even his own procrastination.

He guessed it was the fear of the privilege being taken from him and given to someone else, that spurred him to boost his work speed so he would be ready by the fateful day.

Whatever it was though, it didn't matter anymore, for there was simply no way of going back now after seven years of preparation.

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**

**- Melbourne was selected to host the Olympics in 1949 by just a one vote margin.**

**- It was decided that the equestrian events would be held in Stockholm, due to the Australian equine quarantine.**

**- The IOC President at one point stated that Rome was more prepared for the Olympics than Melbourne, despite the fact they were set to host in 1960.**


	20. Boycott

A fortnight before the Opening Ceremony in Melbourne, Switzerland took one of his last looks at the guest list for the event. He read down through all of the country names, crossing out the ones of those whom had recently decided not to compete.

Egypt, Iraq and Lebanon were the first to go. The three were apparently quite bitter over the Suez Crisis and were withdrawing in defiance to England, France and Israel's involvement.

"That's three gone. Who's next? Oh, Spain and Netherlands too."

He had originally chosen to withdraw from the Games, since he wasn't very comfortable with some of Russia's actions lately. The Hungarian Revolution just happened to be the last straw and the event that convinced him that Russia truly was insane. As one of the main authorities on the Olympic Committee, he knew that his absence would be strongly felt by some, but he wanted to show that he did in fact care for his neighbours despite what others tended to believe.

As for Spain and Netherlands, they had been quick to follow suit and withdraw as well, claiming that it was as much their problem as it was his.

Switzerland drew lines through their names and double checked each page again to make sure there weren't any mistakes, when the phone on his desk began to ring. He sighed irritably and picked up the receiver.

"Hello, this is Switzerland. Who is speaking?"

_"This is the United States. There's just been another announcement; China says they're boycotting the event too!"_

Switzerland raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Which China? You'll have to be more specific."

_"The taller one."_

"Taller one? You're going to have give me more information."

_"Whoops, sorry. Well, I mean the one with the loud voice and the ponytail who's kind of rude sometimes..."_

"Oh."

Switzerland looked at the guest list a third time and put a cross through the People's Republic of China.

_"Looks like __we're going to have a much lower turnout this year, huh?"_


	21. Cod War

Iceland stayed up late on the first of September in 1958, eager to take advantage of the new expansion of his fishery zones.

As midnight arrived, he got all his equipment ready and went out in his boat until he could no longer see the coast behind him, before beginning his fishing.

All went well for a few hours until he noticed strange ripples in the water, followed by the sound of a foghorn in the distance.

England approached in his war ship and demanded Iceland's presence, to which the latter complied with some hesitation.

As Iceland headed to the starboard and leaned slightly against the rails, he knew that he must have done something wrong, though he couldn't figure out what.

He saw England staring sternly at him just metres away, arms crossed and eyebrows still clearly visible despite the surrounding darkness.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"No..." Iceland replied honestly.

"Well, I'm afraid you're fishing in the wrong waters. You see, this is my territory and I would gladly lose a night's sleep to prevent it from breached!"

"We're both tired..." Iceland moaned, stifling a yawn. "...But I'm not staying up so late for nothing. Besides, my fishing zone's just been expanded. I can come here whenever I want."

"Your fishing zone expanded? By whom?"

"My government."

"_Your _government? Why couldn't they consult with me first before making a decision? I'm the main authority in this region, after all."

Iceland's eyes widened at the statement. While it was true that England had once had a quarter of the world under his command and seemingly unlimited resources at his fingertips, Iceland had never imagined that the former British Empire would try to exercise power in Europe itself of all places.

"Main authority? Who appointed you?" He said boldly, somewhat doubting that England would actually dare to harm him.

"Who appointed me? Well, that's a good question...uh...fate, that's who!"

"Just as I thought. You've never had any basis for your power, so you may as well as leave me alone."

"Don't be such an impudent upstart!" England flared up, raising his voice. "While you were still navigating your ineptly named island of stinking hot air, I was busy sailing and conquering the world, yet you have the gall to tell me that my power was unfounded?!"

"I...I'm not just an island of stinking hot air! I have amazing scenery and culture, which...which is more than I can say for you!"

"What?! You will pay for that insult, for I am more than ready to use these guns to blast your puny boat all the way to Spain!"

"It's on, then!" Iceland yelled, caught in the heat of moment and soon to regret his behaviour.

* * *

"Didn't think you two could get into a fishing war with each other." Netherlands mumbled as he took a drag from his cigarette.

"He started it." Iceland pointed innocently at England.

Netherlands raised his eyebrows and pressed his blackened cigarette against his ashtray.

"From now on, you bring all fishing issues to us. Understand?"

"Understood. I promise this won't happen again..."


	22. Secret Weapon

"Comrades, I called you all here to tell you about a new rule in this house." Russia spoke as he marched along, examining the postures of his fellow Soviet states as they stood in a line before him. He stopped in front of Latvia and tugged on the shorter nation's collar.

"Nobody is allowed to come into my weapons lab anymore, unless I say so."

Latvia twitched just as Russia took his hand away and resumed walking. Once Russia's back was turned, he sneaked an uneasy glance to the left at Estonia.

"What happens if we do?" Belarus asked while raising her hand.

"You might die and cause an accident, which will really hurt. Oh, and the rest of us will all get into big trouble too."

"I...I see."

Belarus stared at the floor glumly while Lithuania looked at her in pity.

* * *

"Oh god! This is bad!" America cried as soon as he received the latest report. He even came close to tearing at his own hair, much to the concern of the people around him.

Thankfully, he was able to restrain himself from actually doing so and instead began to rapidly pace to and fro, cursing under his breath the whole time.

_"Shit, shit! I didn't even see that one coming! He's actually catching up! Oh my god, what am I going to do if he tries to use it against me?!"_

"Jones! Are you alright?"

"Huh?"

America paused and looked at the man who had spoken, studying the spectacles on his face, along with his dark hair and calm stance, before wondering if it was possible for his citizens to read his thoughts.

"There's sweat all over your face, Mr Jones."

"Oh, it's nothing! Please don't worry about me, I just get anxious sometimes..." He explained away, while feeling a little ashamed of himself for losing control in such a way.

* * *

"We're all going to die soon, one way or the other, aren't we?" Prussia moaned as he curled up by himself in a corner.

"I hate to say it, but you're probably right. I guess the best we could hope for is that it will be quick, so we don't feel a thing." Lithuania added with a shake of his head.

"Seriously, what's with all this talk about doom and gloom? Maybe things will actually turn out fine!"

"Don't be so naive, Poland. With all these nuclear weapons piling up, how could a war not happen?"


	23. Red Scare

At the end of another ordinary day, America slowly made his way to bed after having switched off the lights and lay down in his pyjamas. He pulled the quilt up over his body and rolled over, hoping that sleep would overcome him soon.

He drifted off without realizing and slumbered peacefully, unaware of the horror that was soon to reveal itself. A few minutes short of midnight, a large figure began to stir silently under America's bed before rolling out from their hiding place.

The figure stood up and towered over the defenceless America, grinning maniacally as they removed the large red piece of fabric draped over their shoulders.

"Wake up, America..." They whispered threateningly as they bent over to put themselves at eye level with him. When that didn't work, the intruder took to playfully shoving the sleeping nation's shoulder until he stirred and blinked.

"Huh?" America said wearily as he turned over to see a blurred figure right by his bedside. "Who the heck are you?"

"Someone who has been waiting in the shadows for years, always looking for the right time to strike. And now that time has finally come...surprise, America!"

America's vision cleared and he shrunk in fear at the intruder's pale hair and dark eyes. He tried to cry out for help, only to find that his voice had suddenly fled his body.

The intruder laughed and threw their giant red flag over America's head, pinning him down to the bed despite his struggles. They held him there, smothering him with the cloth until he stopped moving completely, which was the sign that their mission was complete.

"Thank you for your time, America." They said jovially as they prepared to depart through the window. "By tomorrow morning, you shall wake up and find yourself reborn, for communism is the truth..."

* * *

America sat up violently with a scream and glanced at the walls of his bedroom, each adorned with pictures and the occasional poster of a celebrity.

He put a hand to his moist back and sighed deeply, reassuring himself that it was all but a dream. Still, a frightening thought was once again occupying his mind. What if communism actually rose up in his own country when he wasn't looking? No, he couldn't let it happen. It would mean the end of everything he had ever stood for, and that was why he would always have to be vigilant.


	24. Toy Bricks

_"Alright, which idiot thought that working in a toy store would be a good way to find out what my citizens were up to?"_

Denmark sighed in embarrassment at his current situation, as he focused on carefully arranging rows of toys on a shelf. He glanced briefly outside the shop windows once he'd finished the top level, seeing a familiar freckled boy standing outside with his mother.

The freckled boy grinned excitedly and Denmark gaped, recalling the incident in the shoe store weeks before. He turned away awkwardly and continued with his task, hoping that the mother and son would simply walk away and leave him be.

That was not to be the case though, for the boy began to yank impatiently at his mother's hand until she relented and decided to let him choose a toy just this once.

Once they were inside the store, the boy pointed at Denmark and squealed.

"Look, mum! It's that man again!"

"Niklas, what did I tell you about pointing at people?!"

When the boy ignored her, she shook her head in frustration and muttered something about reaching her wit's end.

"Hello sir, do you have anything for boys?" The child asked ever so politely as he skipped over, opening his eyes wide and smiling innocently.

_"Damn, how could I say 'no' to a face like that?" _Denmark thought sheepishly.

"Of course, we do." He said kindly to the boy. "They're on the shelf over there. Would you like me to help you pick?"

"No, I'm fine."

Denmark watched as the boy took his time to decide on what he wanted, before turning his attention to the mother whom stood nearby looking fairly resigned.

"Kids are difficult, aren't they?" He remarked in an attempt to make small talk.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. I guess it's a good thing he's my only one, I don't know how I would cope with two."

"You know, I don't think I could handle it either..."

"Mum!" The boy called as he came running forward, holding a small painted box in hands. "Can I have this? Please?"

"What is it?" She asked, her attention quickly drawn back to her son. She knelt down to get a closer look at the item he had chosen.

"Lego bricks? What's that?"

"Uh, my friend's dad bought him one..."

"Anyway, we need to go home now. Let's go to the counter and mummy will pay for the toy, alright?"

"Alright."

* * *

The mother and son did just that and soon left the store together, but not before she made sure he remembered his manners.

"Remember to say goodbye to that man, honey."

"Goodbye!" The boy exclaimed, waving his small hand vigorously as he disappeared out the door.

"Bye, kid..." Denmark said quietly in return.

Once they were gone, he went back to arranging toys as he had done before and wondered if he would meet them yet again in the future.

It was a small world after all.


	25. Sputnik

"Oh my god!" America cried as he read the newspaper at his brother's place.

"What is it this time, America? You've said that phrase a lot lately..."

Canada looked up from his cup of coffee and eyed the back cover of the paper. He took note of the date, knowing full well the issue that he was reading.

America flipped the newspaper around and showed Canada the front page, his face pale in shock.

"Oh, that..." Canada shrugged nonchalantly as he saw the main headline. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"You don't understand, brother..." America whined, placing the paper down by his cup and saucer. "That dirty Russia has one-upped me again."

"Really?"

"You know, he has better bombs than me! In any case, I'd be doomed in a direct war with him... and now he has to claim the skies for himself too!"

"Well I'm surprised that he even managed to do it. I always thought it would be impossible..."

"Not just the skies, Canada! The whole atmosphere too, since it's orbiting around the world right now!"

"You should calm down, America." Canada replied quietly but firmly before his brother could lose his composure completely.

"How can I? I'm falling behind..." America said flatly, his voice faltering.

Canada's expression darkened and he began to explain.

"Listen, it must have taken Russia years just to plan how it would all work, and it will take him yet more to make something better. While he does, you'll have plenty of time to come up with something original and groundbreaking. And if you do succeed, I bet that he'll regret ever striking up competition with you. Does that sound alright?"

"Yeah, it does...but how do you know that's what he'll do? You're not secretly a spy, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm just making guesses based on logic."

"So I can still trust you, right?"

"Yes, you can."

"I'm glad, then." America said in relief. He reached for his cup and sipped his now cooled down coffee.

While America's eyes were fixed on his brown beverage, Canada smirked.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sputnik 1 was launched on the fourth of October 1957 and pretty much kicked off the Space Race. It spent three months in orbit before it eventually fell and burned up.  
**


	26. Ball Games

**Author's Note: I guess I just wanted to write something with these two interacting like brothers, as well as include yet more pop culture references.  
**

* * *

It was the start of July once again and that meant only one thing to the North America brothers.

Canada celebrated his birthday quietly on the first and at the end of the day, received an invitation from America. When he found himself accepting more out of courtesy than out of real affection for his brother, he came to the realization that neither of them were as close as relatives should be.

Little did he know, America had planned something much different this year.

* * *

On the fourth, Canada drove to America's house and parked outside with little difficulty. As he got out of the car, wrapped present in hand, and looked at the front gates, he felt as if the place had grown larger since the past year.

America soon threw his front door open and rushed down the stairs to welcome his brother in his usual cheerful way, before nudging him along despite the unease.

They helped themselves to drinks and giant slices of cake until they were too full to have anymore. They slumped down on chairs in the living room afterwards and Canada noticed the brand new television perched on a little stand in the corner.

"Say, when did you get that television?"

"About a month ago. I actually had to work to get the money for it. So whatever you do, don't break it."

"How does it work?"

"Oh, you just press a button to switch it on and turn a dial to change channels. It's pretty simple."

Canada stared once again at the wooden box before asking if he could just touch it.

* * *

That afternoon, they joined each other in the backyard to engage in the surprise activity that America had planned.

It was only until a baseball was hurtling towards his head, that Canada understood what he was supposed to do. Unfortunately, he was unable to react in time and was knocked back slightly as the ball collided with his face.

It dropped to the ground with a thud and Canada squeezed his now bleeding nose. He looked up at his brother, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"Sorry Matt, but it's your fault for being so slow..."

"I'm not slow! It's your aim that's terrible!"

"My aim is just fine!"

"Well, fuck you!" Canada blurted out in rage, clutching his nose tighter as the flow of blood showed no sign of stopping.

"Excuse me...?" America said in horror upon hearing the curse word from his brother's mouth.

"I said, fudge you!"

Neither of them said anything for several minutes afterwards, as Canada continued to nurse his face. The bleeding on his face soon ceased and he stormed off to find a place where he could wash the red smudges from his hands.

While he was at the bathroom sink splashing water all over his face, America approached him from behind and apologized for his earlier actions.

"I'm sorry for throwing that ball without alerting you first. I really am..."

"That's fine...isn't there another game we could play?"

"Yeah, we could play football if you want..."

"I'll give it a try."

* * *

"Oh my god, Matt! You're like Charlie Brown, you keep missing the ball!" America yelled after Canada once again failed to steal it from him.

"Who's Charlie Brown? A friend of yours?" Canada asked, panting. He came to a stop and bent over to get his breath back.

"Nope, he's a cartoon character. I thought you would have heard of him."

"Apparently, I haven't."

"Then you should read Peanuts, it's pretty funny."

"Why even are we talking about cartoons, though? I thought this was football."

"You brought it up." America shrugged, tossing the football up in the air and catching it effortlessly. "Hey, maybe you could choose what we play instead. Something that suits you."

"You want me to decide?" Canada asked meekly in surprise.

"Yeah!"

"Well, how about hockey?"

"Sure, why not?" America chuckled. "Let's go!"


	27. Rock 'n' Roll

**I'm almost running out of ideas for this story, so if there are any interesting facts or events that I have missed, I would appreciate it if you would let me know in a review.**

* * *

America didn't care much for the new form of guitar music, thinking it was another gimmick that would soon be over. He stuck fervently to his good old fashioned love ballads and crooners, remembering what happened the last time he had rushed into the latest fads without thinking.

_"So much for the jazz age...it had to end with a crash, didn't it? But I guess I had it coming..."_

Resist the rapidly spreading influence of the new sound as he did, it soon reached the point where he couldn't avoid it without shutting himself away completely.

Much of the youth embraced it, listening to it as a way of rebelling against the conservative values of their parents and perhaps even more so because they could relate to the subjects of the songs.

Having the body and mental functions of a young man himself, America could not escape the influence of the popular music forever and eventually succumbed in 1954.

It happened one night while he was listening to the radio and a catchy song came on. Rather than change the station as he normally would have, he realized that he couldn't bring himself to do so as he wished to hear the rest of the song.

By the time of the chorus, he was humming along without realizing and tapping his foot to the rhythm. He did this for the remainder of it's duration, feeling disappointed when it came to an end.

A man introduced the next song on the station and Alfred tried to recall the words of the song, in the hope that he could figure out the title.

* * *

Canada sat alone on his porch, quietly strumming his acoustic guitar and singing a folk song to himself, when a sudden screech sounded from his brother's place.

It was not unlike the unpleasant sound of nails been scraped against a blackboard, so he walked inside where he would not have to put up with the growing racket.

* * *

After weeks of fiddling around, America was finally able to play a coherent tune on his new electric guitar. Going on what he could remember of each song, he plucked the strings until he was sure he had found the right note to play.

He temporarily entertained himself with dreams of being able to play like Elvis, only to remind himself how foolish the notion was.

* * *

France switched off the radio as soon as he heard the dreaded American music. He turned to Belgium in disappointment and moaned.

"Alas, this uncultured music is spreading around like the plague! Belgium, go and find something classy for us to listen to! Something worthy for folk like us..."

Belgium sprung up from her chair and strode to a nearby cupboard where France's collection of records were stored.

"Let's see...what will it be? Edith Piaf, or Jacques Brel?"

"I could not care less, as long as it is a French artist."

"You should know that Jacques Brel is mine..."

"If he is yours, then why does he speak French?" France asked teasingly with a smile.

"Please, not this joke again..." Belgium sighed. "It really is getting tiresome..."


	28. Song Contest

**In which England is a hypocrite (sort of).**

* * *

Six nations arrived in Switzerland in May of 1956. All except for Italy, were rather skeptical about what they were in for as a result of entering his music contest.

"I can't be the only one who thinks there's a catch here?" Germany questioned as they all climbed the tall hill to get to Switzerland's modestly sized house.

"No, you are not." Netherlands replied, coming up behind Germany. France trailed behind the former, followed by Belgium and Luxembourg whom were close to leaning on each others' shoulders.

They continued the rest of the way without another word exchanged.

* * *

The six of them took their seats and sat down level to the small stage at the back of the room.

Switzerland watched as they deliberately seemed to avoid each other. The Benelux siblings for some reason didn't dare to sit too close together and the same could be said of France and Italy. As for Germany, he had distanced himself from the rest by sitting at the complete opposite side of the hall from them.

The event hadn't not yet started and they were already forgetting the very purpose it had been organized in the first place.

"Hey, you losers! Man up and look at each others' faces! Especially you, Germany! It's time you faced your guilt head on!"

Germany's pupils dilated and he uncrossed his arms, the frustration leaving his face and being replaced with shock. He remained in that state for several moments as if lost about what he needed to do, before snapping back to his usual alertness and moving seats.

Once they were all seated uncomfortably close together, Switzerland observed them with a flicker of triumph in his eyes.

"Good start. Now I expect all of you to stay where you are for the rest of the night." He explained brusquely before striding off to attend to some last-minute preparations.

Belgium shifted an inch away from Germany and a rare frown formed on her face.

"I guess I should be thankful that England hasn't turned up. The quarrelling would be unbearable."

* * *

England watched the results of the contest at home on television, hardly surprised at the announcement of Switzerland's win with the song 'Refrain'.

"So the host himself wins. Hardly remarkable, if you ask me. It just goes to show how fixed these sorts of events are."


	29. New Queen

It was just before the annual world meeting of 1953, and it didn't take a fool to notice England's unusually pleasant mood, especially when compared to his depressed state the previous year.

The former empire had marched through the doors with his head held up high and a spring in his step as he swung a walking cane around.

America was puzzled by the change and sought out a former British colony in order to ask them just what might have brought it about.

"Hey, Austria!"

"I'm Australia, mate!"

"Why's England so happy? He's normally such a grump!"

"You really don't know?" Australia inquired in surprise, raising his thick eyebrows.

"No."

"He just got a new queen. It was all over the telly!"

"Telly?"

"As in television."

"Oh."

America thanked Australia for his help and walked over to his designated seat, wondering if Australian English was any different from British English. He hoped it wasn't the case. Understanding England's dialect was already difficult enough at times.

Meanwhile England was irritating France and several other Western Europeans by voicing his excitement over his new monarch.

"Would you believe it?! Another Elizabeth! I can only pray that she'll live up to the name and be just as grand as her predecessor! I expect no less from her, did I tell you how delightful she was as a child...? But she's a grown woman now, so I guess I should be proud..."

France covered his ears as he found increasingly difficult to hear any more. He tried to yell at the island nation to shut up, but his pleas were ignored. Knowing that there wasn't much he could do aside from resort to physical violence, he resigned to simply enduring the chatter in the hope that it would end soon.

"Oh, Marie..." He sobbed, slamming his face into the table.


	30. Centrefold

**I will refrain from describing things in too much detail to keep the 'T' rating, but you're free to look things up (or use your imagination).**

**PS: I do get tired of stories where Alfred is written as sexually aggressive or promiscuous, mainly because it's out of character in my opinion. **

**Also, just keep in mind what American culture was like in the fifties.  
**

* * *

Alfred travelled home by train on New Year's Day, after watching the fireworks in Central Park at midnight. He sat alone and avoided eye contact with the other passengers by looking at the night sky through the window.

He considered the New Year's resolution he'd made and immediately had second thoughts about it's attainability.

_"Don't be such an idiot, you are never going to get laid. You can't even look a pretty girl in the eyes, let alone have a proper conversation."_

He dropped his head, as he felt rather pathetic about himself and made out the corner of a glossy magazine page sticking out from under his seat.

Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled at the single page, bringing the rest of the magazine out with it. He picked it up and turned it over, noticing the picture of Marilyn Monroe posing playfully on the front cover.

"Playboy...I wonder what this is about..." He thought out loud as he flicked to the first page. "Seems normal enough..."

He figured that he wouldn't have time to read the articles when he was due to get off very soon, so he decided to check out the pictures and illustrations first.

He turned some more pages and received a tremendous shock when he flipped open to the centrefold in his haste.

There on his lap, was a full colour photo of Marilyn completely nude and in all her glory as she reclined against red velvet. It was far too much for his innocent eyes and he gave a high-pitched shriek, tossing the publication aside on an impulse.

It landed near the feet of the old man seated at the other side of the carriage and Alfred gasped. He stood up quietly and tiptoed to where the other was sitting so he could retrieve the magazine, trying his best to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm very sorry, sir. I don't know what came over me. I'll just pick this up, no trouble at all..." He apologized as he grabbed the magazine from the floor and stuffed it underneath his coat, before the older man could get a clear glimpse of the covers.

Once the train had reached his stop, Alfred rushed out the doors without exchanging a last look at any of the other passengers.

* * *

Alfred sat down on the side of his bed and opened to the centrefold again, despite being fully aware of the guilt he would feel at ogling a female body.

Truth be told, he _had _seen the occasional naked part in the past, but never everything in it's entirety. He'd even begun to think that it could never happen, since an intimate relationship was something he knew he would never truly experience, with his abnormally long life and all.

He forced himself to stare at the picture once more before closing the covers and slipping the magazine under his bed.


	31. Fangirls

The simple act of walking down the street had become a troublesome task for Alfred, ever since the news of Elvis Presley's next destination in his tour. It seemed now that ecstatic young girls could be found everywhere he went, all of them desperate for the privilege of seeing the man himself in the flesh.

On what he would now call an ordinary day, Alfred was on his way to an appointment and didn't expect to encounter one such fan.

The screaming girl in question had suddenly collapsed upon passing him by and fallen down motionless on the pavement, her face going stiff as she did so. Alfred recalled some first aid guidelines he'd once picked up and was quick to react. He knelt down beside the girl and shooed surrounding bystanders away.

"Are you alright?! Please answer me!" He shouted as he shook her gently by the shoulders to get a response.

It took a few seconds for the girl to regain full consciousness, at which she blinked and her lips curled into a wide smile.

"I can't believe it, I actually saw the King..." She whispered, reaching up to stroke his hair before hyperventilating and falling limp in his arms.

Alfred groaned in exasperation and dragged the inert female away from the kerb, propping her up against a wall where she would hopefully be in less danger. He then stood up and prepared to leave the scene, figuring that celebrity-induced hysteria was something way beyond his expertise.

Onlookers were by now looking at him disapprovingly and one elderly man even stepped forward to chastise him.

"Young man, you can't just leave a lady alone like that! Where is your decency?!"

Alfred spun around and looked down at the gentleman's round face and cleared his throat.

"I...I assure you that she'll be fine in a few minutes. It's just a matter of her overcoming her excitement."

He then hightailed his way out of the place, realizing that he was now running late.

* * *

A similar event occurred months later when Alfred was going for a stroll in the park on the weekend. He spied a girl sitting alone on a bench with her face buried in her hands and her whole body trembling uncontrollably.

As the heroic fellow that he was, he knew he couldn't just ignore someone so clearly distraught and made it his obligation to help them.

He sat down next to the girl and touched her arm comfortingly.

"Hey, everything's alright. There's no need to cry."

The girl sniffed and turned towards him, her face raw with tears and her makeup a runny mess.

"What would you know about what I'm going through?! And why do you _care_, of all people?! I don't even know who you are!"

"You can talk to me though, I'll try to listen." He replied, ignoring the latter two questions in favour of the first.

The girl's crying slowly ceased and she reached for her handkerchief so she could dab her face gently.

"He...he's been drafted..." She began to explain miserably, her voice coming out in choked sobs.

"Who? Your boyfriend? Your brother?"

The girl shook her head firmly and broke into tears again for the next few minutes. She continued once she calmed down and was able to speak intelligibly.

"I love him so much...the way he sings and swings his hips. Oh, why did he have to answer the call?!"

"You...you don't mean the King, do you?"

She nodded shyly and blushed, her face reddening even more.

Alfred felt jealousy building up deep down in his chest at the mere thought of the singer's smouldering eyes and thrusting dance moves. It just wasn't fair that one man could make all the girls swoon simply by existing. What on earth had happened to equal rights for all?

If there was anyone who deserved such worship in his opinion, it was himself. He was after all, over two hundred years old, strong enough to lift a truck and had even fought bravely in the Second World War. But then again, he doubted the girl next to him was even old enough to remember those times. Such was the ignorance of the current generation.

_"Oh god, I sounded just like a grumpy old guy. What is wrong with me?"  
_

He mentally slapped himself for daring to think in such a way and glanced a final time at the girl. She was busy drying her eyes and because she looked like she was feeling a lot better, he stood up and gave her a farewell.

She did the same and waved back with a bitter smile on her face.

_"I guess I should at least be grateful that this means he'll be away for a while. Maybe all these girls will come back to their senses and life will go back to what it should be."_

* * *

**Author's Note: I think everyone knows how much of a hit Elvis was with the girls in his prime, but it was also reported that many teenage boys as well as young men hated him and were prone to feelings of jealousy as a result of his popularity.  
**

**I guess things haven't really changed, if you take some present day bands and artists in account.**


End file.
